


Oh

by dollface



Series: Daydream [3]
Category: All Time Low, Tonight Alive
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollface/pseuds/dollface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oh<br/>/əʊ/<br/>used to express a range of emotions including surprise, anger, disappointment, or joy, or when reacting to a remark.</p><p>My house feels big and empty without you in it. The lack of your presence has left me feeling cold, with an aching in my bones. It's not just my house either; it's the whole town. Baltimore isn't the same without you.</p><p>You're an ocean away, and while it's not much - just a simple plane trip - it's forever. We're both getting older and I'm not sure if you'll come back, and I don't have enough money to road trip around Australia - it's too big and I have no idea of where you're gone.</p><p>I don't know what to say now I've lost you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tales Hidden Behind the Rain

The day you told me about your fear of planes it was raining, similar to how it is today. It was only a small drizzle, however. It was like the clouds sensed your stress and comforted you, sliding down your cheeks and kissing your dappled skin. You had been hesitant to tell me, but that was the day we were sharing absolutely everything. Our favourite colours – yours is green, mine’s purple – and our best friend’s secret they shared with us when we were younger – your best friend told you she kissed a guy behind the trees in third grade, and I was told about how a friend accidentally killed their neighbour’s fish. What we wanted to be when we were older – a fairy princess and a superhero – and how we took our coffee, just in case we would ever forget it – you have two sugars and no milk, except if you’re in a bad mood in which case you’ll take the milk, and I have no sugar and heaps of milk, no changes.  
  
We were seated at the kitchen bench and you were gazing out of the window. You stated your reason bluntly, no sugar coating or soothing the inevitable jolt of shock that was going to run through me. “My dad was in a plane crash. He almost died.” Your voice was shaking as you reached the end of the sentence. “That’s my biggest fear, and the reason why. Your turn.”  
  
I could barely squeeze out the next few words – “Performing is my worst fear. I have panic attacks from the stage fright.” You nodded and replied with,  
  
“Understandable.”  
  
Today it was bucketing down. It had been non – stop for about four hours. I didn’t know if you were off the plane, or still soaring in the clouds. I hoped that you were on the ground – the sky was currently a dangerous place to be. I could only imagine how much your anxiety would be peaking. Your rushed breathing, your hammering heart. Gripping the arms of the chair until your skin was stretched so taut it was white, the blood fleeing the area. The pins and needles that would occur, starting a domino effect in your mind –  _something else is wrong._  
  
My fingers slipped on the numbers on my mobile as I dialled your number. I ended up back at square one, your dial tone, but all that was consuming my mind were your answers from my further questioning.  
  
 _“What happened to your dad?”  
  
You brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face before answering. “The plane went down in the middle of the ocean. A liner was nearby and picked up as many people as they could.” You rubbed small circles into the mug of coffee in your hands, the heat reassuring you. “He was lucky. Third class, middle of the plane. He was one of the first rescued.”  
  
“Where was he going?”  
  
“He was coming back home from Australia. He had a bit of business back there.”  
  
Sometimes I forgot your country of origin. Your accent had blended nicely, leaving only a few inflections in your speech to give credit. Not that I ever noticed – your voice was as relaxing and well known to me as my own, except I never bored of it.  
  
“How did the plane go down?” I should have known better than to pry too far. Your eyes flashed a warning and I ducked my head in response, changing the subject. “First person you screwed?” A blush blossomed across your cheeks and I had smiled – you were, for the first time in our questioning, speechless._  
  
I received word of your whereabouts at about three o’clock the following morning. It wasn’t much, but it was a text message at least. It was more than I would have done. I wouldn’t have let you sleep easy, knowing that you were the one that pushed me away. I know it’s selfish and childish, but I would want to hurt you as much as you hurt me. Then again, I never would have left.  
  
 _I’m in Sydney.  
The plane didn’t crash._  
  
I tried to call you – never mind me trying to hurt you. I still want you back, here with me. I want to know that you’re safe and that I’m the one who’s protecting you. It went to a dial tone, just like it did on Tuesday, like it did the week after, and the month after. Just like it did yesterday, almost five years after your departure. I figured that you had dumped the phone in the Sydney Harbour, it seemed like something you would do. Drown your past in your present. You would find something humorous in that.  
  
Two weeks after you were gone, I wanted to know how far away you were. Maybe I could walk it. I started by doing a few miles every day, then bumped it up to ten. I walked 13 510 miles in the past five years. You are 9787 miles away. I could have walked to you and been a third of the way back home. But I can’t walk on water, no matter how much I try or wish it so – I had dragged myself back home in wet jeans and a shirt that clung to my body, just like you had, a few times too many for it to be false.  
  
The day I received a knock on my door it was raining. I had fallen into a destructive cycle since your departure. I had lost my job, and when I wasn’t walking I was either drinking myself into oblivion or trying to sober up and get a job. My resume, however, was lacking for someone of my age and most places turned me down. At first I had drunk to forget you, but now it was habitual. A few friends had tried to help me, and I had two sobriety pins – not that I had ever attended the meetings past one month. I had a scraggly beard – I was on my downward spiral – and my shirt had an abundance of stains on it.  
  
The postman had screwed up his nose but passed me the letter anyway – “special request to deliver it to your door,” he had explained after I gave him a questioning look. The handwriting was familiar and the words inside rocked me to my core.  
  
 _I’m home._


	2. Tales Discovered in the Shade

I didn’t walk to your house – I ran. Feet pounding on the sidewalk and my breath loud in my ears. I barely remembered to lock the front door and slip on shoes. All I could think was,  _you’re home._  It continued to pound at my skull, merciless. I could barely believe it. It seemed too real, too tangible to actually be happening – like those times where life is speeding up and when you blink you don’t remember a thing. This was the former, and I knew that the latter was going to happen soon.  
  
Your neighbours had moved out long ago, a new couple lived there. I had laughed quietly to myself when I saw them moving in and pictured your reaction. You wouldn’t have approved – they were the stereotypical two point five picket fence family, minus the picket fence and one point five kids. Instead they had a small dog – one of those breeds that bark their heads off and drive people insane. You would never have approved.  
  
To be honest, I don’t think they would have approved of you either. At least, not back then.  
  
I stopped running when I got to your street – I walked. Five years and I was going to arrive on your doorstep sweating and out of breath? It wouldn’t be the best impression. I was also scared of seeing you again – what if you had changed too much? What if you weren’t even a semblance of the Jenna that had left me?  
  
“Get it together.” I muttered to myself, opening your gate and trying fruitlessly to find the pavement under the weeds. Nobody had kept your house in a very nice shape. It was overrun and overgrown and it looked like it was over two hundred years old when in reality it was only reaching thirty at best.  
  
I knocked on the door and received no answer. I pulled the letter out of my pocket to check that it  _had_  been you that had contacted. I hadn’t dreamt it up in a fit of longing. But I held the proof, solid proof, in my hands that you had thought about me enough to care – enough to tell me that you were back. Those two mailed words were as real as day, unlike the times when I woke tossing and turning with echoes of you kissing my brain, making me believe that you were a few blocks away. I would call you, only to hear the all too familiar series of beeps and the automated female voice say,  
  
“I’m sorry, the number you have called is no longer in service.”  
  
And I would shout all of the reasons for you leaving to air empty of you and try, just try and understand. Why did you leave me, Jenna?  
  
Running my hand through my hair, messing it up even more, I headed towards town. I would want to get away from this dump too, and that would be my first choice of destination.  
  
I saw you on the corner, waiting for the pedestrian lights to turn green. You were just as I remembered. On the shorter side, with regrowth peeking through your bottle blonde hair. I wondered if you were still as spiteful but I shook it from my mind – if you were spiteful you never would have told me you were home.  
  
I sped up, trying to reach you before the running man turned green. I opened my mouth to call your name – but what if you didn’t remember me? What if you treated me like a stranger? With the contempt I probably deserve?  
  
What if I tapped you on the shoulder, and said your name, and you didn’t recognise me. You’d think I was nuts, and tell me to go away. You’d turn, your gossamer hair flying out behind you in the wind accompanied by the rain and you’d leave me, again. I wouldn’t be sheltered by your umbrella from the elements and water would hit my face, stinging my skin. They’d pierce me like daggers. There’s a reason there’s no such thing as “daymares”. What situations could be described as them is usually called “reality”.  
  
I heard the sped up ticking of the lights and everyone started moving forward. I hurried closer, trying to keep an eye on you. As soon as we were across the road the crowd dispersed, all headed in their own direction.  
  
“Jenna!” I cringed as soon as your name left my mouth. You turned around and spotted me, coming to a standstill.  
  
“Do I know you?” Your eyes flickered with the ghost of remembering, widening as you took me in. I came a bit closer and a few people jostled past us, grumbling to themselves. “Alex,” my name was almost indistinguishable you said it so fast. “It’s actually you. Oh my god, Alex!” You lurched forward, an infectious smile stretching its way over your features. Your arms were ready to embrace me but you stopped yourself, catching your balance at the last possible second. You bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes glancing downward.  
  
“It’s nice to see you too, Jenn.” I reached out and crushed you to my chest, swaying slightly. I inhaled your scent – you no longer smelled like mixed berries or your ‘confidence’ deodorant. You smelled like rockmelon instead; it was an incredibly sweet, almost cloying scent.  
  
Now that the reunion was over, we stood awkwardly next to each other. You wear wearing wedges which boosted your height – we were almost eye to eye now. At a lack of anything to say, I gestured towards your hair.  
  
“Is there a reason it’s half and half?”  
  
You lifted a bag in answer. “I’ve got green hair dye and bleach in here. I’m doing it later tonight.” I nodded, glancing towards a café to our left.  
  
“Coffee?” I was at a loss for words and I didn’t know that things would be so awkward and strained between us. You bit the inside of your cheek again and shifted your weight to your left leg.  
  
“Sure, but before we go, and I know I don’t deserve this, but would you like to start over? Clean slate, past is in the past, that sort of thing?”  
  
I pondered on your words for a while, trying to come to a rational decision. One that my emotions wouldn’t play a part in. But we both knew I became too emotionally invested and followed my heart all too often, regardless of the results. “Alex.” I stuck my hand out for you to shake. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Hi, I’m Jenna.” You took my hand and tilted your head, smiling widely.  
  
“How about that coffee?”  
  
We entered the store and we purchased two plain coffees, both with milk, and a cinnamon scroll to share. You dumped two of the packets of sugar in yours and stirred it idly with your pinky as we started to talk. We didn’t talk about our past. Not right then anyway. We told each other all about ourselves, like we were strangers – because in reality we are. I know nothing of the Jenna now, and I’m looking forward to meeting her in her entirety.


End file.
